


I Want You To Ruin My Life

by DaniJayNel



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Delinquent Ymir, F/F, Good Girl Historia, inspired by the song Ruin My Life by Zara Larsson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:21:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22052431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaniJayNel/pseuds/DaniJayNel
Summary: Ymir was undoubtably, irrevocably bad for her. Yet Historia could not bring herself to resist her. Ymir is the bad girl delinquent, and Historia has to keep a good reputation. But all she wants is to be free, and with Ymir is the promise of that, if she's brave enough.
Relationships: Krista Lenz | Historia Reiss/Ymir
Comments: 22
Kudos: 135





	I Want You To Ruin My Life

**Author's Note:**

> back from hiatus bitches! (in theory lol) Enjoy

Ymir was undoubtably, irrevocably bad for her. She was the delinquent bad girl, the kid at school that kicked her desk across the room and swore at the teacher and stormed to the office before even being told to. She was the type of girl that kissed and told and left hearts broken in her shadow, and oh, how terribly bad she was.

Yet Historia could not bring herself to resist her. Historia, the golden girl with rich parents and an empire at her fingertips, with constant smiles and compliments at her heels. She was born with a golden spoon in her mouth and an edge on her sleeve, and yet she always found her eyes straying to the sight of Ymir across the cafeteria, the library, the parking lot.

Ymir spoke with a gruff certainty, walked with aggressive confidence. She showed her fists and she used them, and she never once went back on her word. When they spoke for the first time, Historia was sitting alone on the stairwell, waiting for her father to fetch her and using the time to study for their upcoming finals. Boots thudded down the hallway, then she was there. Ymir wobbled into view, leaning heavily against the wall as she dragged her feet.

She was a mess—blood spattered on her white uniform shirt, her tie completely gone—she rarely ever wore it to begin with—short hair tousled and a terrible scrape over her chin. Her knuckles were torn and bloody, and redness still seeped from her crooked nose. When she noticed Historia and Historia noticed her, it was like time slowed down. Cliché. Dumb. Inevitable.

“What are you looking at?” Ymir growled at her, wiping a shaking hand across her nose, only smearing the blood on her face.

Historia swallowed, her study material forgotten, a strange limp in her heartbeat. “You’re bleeding,” she blurted stupidly.

Ymir’s sharp eyes studied her, then she winced and walked closer. Historia stared at her, apprehensive and a little frightened. She heard so many conflicting rumours about Ymir, it was difficult to decide which were true, and which not.

“Really?” Ymir remarked. “I didn’t notice.”

Historia was caught off guard. Not by the sarcasm, or even the dishevelled, bloody sight of her—but by the fact that Ymir was talking to her, and that Ymir dropped down heavily on the stair below her, so close that their knees were almost touching. Her uniform pants were torn and dirty, and it looked like someone had really given her a good beating, and Historia couldn’t mask the fact that she was staring and curious.

“You should see the other guy,” Ymir told her. She pulled a pack of cigarettes out, lit one, blew a cloud of smoke directly into Historia’s face.

Historia coughed and waved the smoke away. “What happened? And please don’t smoke. It’s against school rules.”

Ymir snorted, but stubbed the smoke out and slipped it back into its pack. “You can’t tell me what to do.”

“You’re still bleeding.”

“Fucking hell.” She rubbed her hand across her nose again, but it didn’t help. All she did was coat her hand in even more blood.

“Here.” Historia set her book aside and pulled her small pack of tissues out. Ymir eyed it warily, then took it from her trembling fingers with much longer ones, and dabbed at her bleeding nose. The pink of the tissue dyed a dark red.

“Thanks,” Ymir mumbled, tilting her head back. “Why are you helping me?”

Historia tilted her head. “Why shouldn’t I?”

Ymir snorted, but winced. “You’re strange, Historia.”

Historia’s face flushed and she adjusted the glasses on her face. She only distantly considered that being seen with Ymir would be very bad for her image, and she should probably pack her things and wait by the gate. But Ymir was looking at her, head still tilted, and there was just something…

“I’m not the one bleeding all over the place.”

Ymir shrugged one shoulder. “Touché. You stare at me a lot, though.”

“If you know that, then you stare at me too.”

At that, Ymir laughed. She dropped her head and lowered the tissue, testing to see if she was still bleeding. Though her nose was a dark red from the blood, it seemed to have stopped. She used the wet tissue to wipe her hands, then offered the pack of tissues back.

Unthinking, Historia took it, her eyes fixed on the bruises and scrapes along Ymir’s face.

“What happened?”

Ymir released a long sigh. “Same as always. Someone insulted me, so I beat the shit out of them.”

Historia swallowed. “You get into a lot of fights.”

“People like to mess with me.”

She nodded. “I can see that. Have you ever thought about maybe just trying to resolve things peacefully?”

Ymir picked at the drying flecks of blood on her wrist. Her knuckles looked ruined, but Historia didn’t feel comfortable enough trying to help with them, too. “Someone like me isn’t able to do things peacefully,” she said.

“Have you ever tried?”

There was the unmistakable flash of irritation over Ymir’s face, and just like that Historia felt herself slip back into reality. The truth of who they were, the differences between them, slipped right between Historia’s ribs and right into her heart. Ymir looked at her like everyone always did—like she was too young and too stupid, privileged and ignorant. Maybe she was. Historia hated that—the look, and the fact that it was right.

“Someone like you wouldn’t understand,” Ymir snarled, then she was up, limping away. She held her side and her face screwed up in pain, and where she had been sitting had droplets of blood. She didn’t even look back as she strode away, and then Historia was sitting alone once more. She curled her hand into a fist, pressed it to her chest, and felt the wet squelch of blood.

Crying out in shock, she drew her hand away and opened it. The plastic was covered in blood, and Historia had just ruined the clean white of her shirt. A strange thrill went through her body when she saw the red fist-like shape stained to her shirt, and the thoughtlessness of Ymir’s blood on the plastic, and her taking it without a care.

“Ymir, you’re the strange one,” she whispered to herself.

The next day, Ymir was at school. She was less bloody, but clearly bruised and people gave her a wide path as she strode from class to class. Historia watched her, like a crow, ravenous and ready to feed. She was hyperaware that Ymir probably knew she was staring, but she still had the bloody tissue wrapper in her pocket, and though it was gross, she couldn’t throw it away.

It was proof that their interaction had happened. That their paths had crossed.

“Hey,” Ymir greeted her as she loped by, so silent despite her height, her size. Historia’s heart shot into her throat, but as quickly as she appeared, Ymir disappeared down the hallway to her next class before Historia could even respond, and all she was left with was staring at the back of her head and wondering why her pulse hammered so hard against her veins.

Like that, Historia discovered that Ymir loved to tease. Once she sniffed out a weakness, she pecked at it repeatedly until the skin fell away to reveal the fresh, pulsing meat beneath. Historia realized Ymir started to watch her openly, and that created a whole new slew of rumours.

“ _You cannot associate yourself with people below you,_ ” her parents told her.

“ _I won’t, I promise,”_ was the lie she told.

All her life she was waited on and pampered and told she was the absolute best, but she didn’t believe it. Ymir was poor, not rich like her. Ymir wasn’t popular at school. Ymir almost failed every class. Yet, Historia felt envious of her. Ymir wore her name like a badge on her chest, puffed herself up and made sure the world had space for her. She took nothing from others that she didn’t need, and didn’t hesitate to cast out anything that held no value to her.

Historia wanted her. Wanted to be like her. Wanted the freedom that came with shouting out the fact of one’s existence to any and all that would listen.

“Ymir is staring at you again,” her friend giggled, pointing across the cafeteria.

Historia turned and flushed, because of course Ymir was staring at her. She was staring so intently that it was impossible to think she was looking in any other direction. Historia wanted to go to her, talk to her, but couldn’t. If people thought she had anything to do with Ymir, her name would get crushed in the ground. She couldn’t let that happen. She hated herself for it.

Weeks later, Historia was washing her hands in the bathroom and never heard Ymir step up beside her.

“You ever get tired of making that face?”

“Excuse me?”

Ymir pulled a smoke out and leaned against the toilet stall. “You make this face like you just ate something bad, but don’t want the cook to know. It looks annoying. It annoys me.”

Perfect. Historia, in turn, became annoyed. She wasn’t having the best day, had a lot of pressure from her friends and family to perform and achieve. Her teachers were breathing down her neck, people were expecting all sorts of miracles from her, and all she wanted to do was crawl into a hole somewhere and sleep as deeply as she could. Because she took extra classes for extra credit, she barely slept so that she could study. Her parents thought she was well rounded, that she ate healthy and slept enough and still managed to get the best marks in school. They were wrong. Historia wasn’t gifted. She didn’t understand most of the things she learned, she was just good at remembering things.

“I’m sorry, I’m not in the mood, Ymir,” she told her as politely as she could. She shut the tap off and used her small personal towel to dry her hands.

Ymir exhaled a big cloud of smoke into her face, then snatched the towel from her hands. “What the fuck is this?” she asked, snorting. “Your own towel? Who brings something like this to school?”

Anger blossomed in Historia’s chest. She tried to snuff it out immediately, used every method she had from years of repressing herself, but Ymir was making it difficult to remember how. “Give it back, please.”

Ymir lifted the towel high and twirled it around. “ _Give it back please,_ ” she mocked in a high, nasally voice. She blew another bellow of smoke into Historia’s face.

Maybe it was the lack of sleep, the grumbling of hunger in her stomach, or the years of watching others say what they felt and meant and being envious of their agency. Historia surged forward, grabbed Ymir’s smoke and threw it to the ground. Ymir made a sharp sound of surprise as Historia smashed her shoe over the smoke, killing it, then lifted her eyes to meet Historia’s. Slowly, her lips spread into a long grin, and Historia’s anger only increased.

“Please give my towel back, and please stop smoking at school and in my face.”

Ymir dropped her hand and gave the towel back. “Still polite, even when pissed off.”

“I’m not.”

Ymir levelled her with a look. “Didn’t that feel good? Taking my smoke, stepping on it? You don’t usually do shit like that.”

Historia felt uncomfortable, suddenly naked under Ymir’s gaze. It was like Ymir knew the deepest parts of her, the parts she kept tightly controlled. Steadily, that control was slipping.

“No,” she choked out, voice cracking. She cleared her throat. “I’m not like you, Ymir.”

“Bull fucking shit.” Ymir suddenly grabbed her arm, fingers holding tight. “I can see it on your face, how sick of everything you are. I want to see it, Historia. Show it to me.”

Historia’s face warmed with her growing anger. She grabbed the front of Ymir’s shirt with quivering fingers, just to give her something to ground herself with, to keep her balance. She could feel the snarl on her lips, the furrow in her brow. She could almost see her own expression in Ymir’s, and it was furious.

“Show you _what_?” she snapped.

Ymir exhaled. “There she is.”

Her grip slid down, curled around Historia’s hand. Their fingers slipped together, then Ymir tugged her out of the bathroom and down the hallway. They left the school building, but it was pouring rain outside. Ymir dropped her hand and turned to look at her, grinning.

“You know what feels real good?” Ymir asked her.

Historia still felt it, that tug of anger and irritation, but there was something too enticing about Ymir. Swallowing, Historia shrugged. “What?”

Ymir stepped away from her and into the rain. She spread her arms out and titled her head as the water spattered against her, drenching her in seconds. “Getting wet as fuck in the rain!” she bellowed over the howl of the rain on the concrete.

Historia blinked at her, astonished by the look of pure elation on her face and the fact that she was happy to get herself wet in the rain when they still had class. She itched to take that step forward, to leave the cover of the overhead roof, but she didn’t.

“Come here!” Ymir yelled for her.

Historia took a step back, towards the safety of the school building, shaking her head. “I can’t!”

Ymir’s arms dropped to her sides and hung there, fingers long as they pointed downwards, dripping streams of water. The freckles on her face stood out sharply on her suddenly pale skin, and she was probably cold from the icy rain. Yet she looked alive, and the way her eyes beckoned Historia forward made her freeze where she stood.

 _Do it,_ her heart told her.

_But I can’t._

_You want to._

_I shouldn’t._

_Maybe you should._

Ymir held her hand out, stood firmly as the wind buffeted against her and the rain pelted her freckled cheeks. She looked dangerous, like a wet lion. Historia suddenly wanted to giggle at the mental image. This was insane. Absolutely wild.

Historia took a single bound forward and took Ymir’s hand, allowing herself to be pulled into the worst of the rain, and when the water struck her skin and slicked her hair back, she released a loud squeal of laughter.

“See?” Ymir laughed, twirling her around. “It’s fun to break the rules sometimes.”

Historia allowed Ymir to guide them as if they were dancing, and then they stopped and she simply just let herself enjoy the coldness of the rain, the prickle of the drops hitting her skin. Ymir’s hands were incredibly warm on her hips, but she didn’t let herself linger on the thought.

A teacher found them standing there in the rain, and they were both sent to the office. Historia immediately regretted her impulsive dive, but Ymir didn’t seem to care and took the fault. She lied and said she had pushed Historia in the rain to bully her, and Historia was too shocked and uncomfortable to disagree. When they left the office, both as wet as dogs in a pond, they stood for a second, frozen limbs and shivering lips.

“Why did you lie?” Historia asked her, tugging at her sodden sleeves.

Ymir gave her a sad little smile. “It’s what you’d want.” Then she left, shoes squelching as she marched down the hallway and out the school building, back into the rain and wind, suspended for two weeks.

The guilt ate at her, but Historia didn’t defend Ymir, and the rumours of what she had done spread through the school like a fire, with Historia helpless to stop them. She felt like a little rodent, cheeks stuffed with food, tail wrapped around her waist, frightened of the bigger, harsher world around her. People chittered in anger about what Ymir had done, how dare she, who did she think she was? And Historia merely pushed her food around, hummed and nodded and shrugged when people thought to ask for her input.

After the two weeks, Ymir returned to school, and she seemed to notice the shift in people’s attitude towards her. She had no real friends, and no one liked her as a general rule, but Historia was horrified to find that people started going out of their way to mess with her. People vandalized her stuff, insulted her in the hallways, and all the teachers turned a blind eye. As far as they were concerned, her attempt to hurt Historia Reiss meant she deserved it.

Historia felt sick. All this, just because she was too meek to just speak up. Ymir carried on as always, walked the halls with her head high, even when people threw food at her and raw egg spilled down her shoulder or rotten tomatoes smeared across her pants.

After a week of watching people do this, Historia had enough. She couldn’t stop thinking about Ymir in the rain, the way her short hair stuck to her face, the soft shade of her paled brown skin, the dark freckles along her cheeks and nose. She imagined dancing in that rain again, of Ymir’s arms around her, fingers threaded with hers.

“I’ve had enough,” she said quietly to her friends, all discussing Ymir with varying degrees of disgust, like she wasn’t a human being but a thing to pull apart for fun. They blinked at her, shocked, and Historia lifted her head and made her way to the table at the back of the cafeteria, where Ymir sat alone and ate her food.

She didn’t notice Historia approach until she was right beside her, and her eyes widened only slightly, but enough for Historia to notice. People all around them were staring, whispering. It made Historia’s pulse jump in a way it never had before—she liked how this felt, to take a stand and do what _she_ wanted for once.

Wordlessly, Historia sat down and started to eat. She ignored the stares, the people calling out to her, asking her why. Ymir stared at her face.

“Why?”

Historia finished eating her yogurt. “Because,” she answered, flashing a genuine smile, “It’s what you’d want.”

Ymir looked at her with surprise, then she grinned and chuckled and slumped back in her seat. She continued eating, as did Historia, as the cafeteria descended into confused chaos. None of that mattered to them, not in the bubble of their table, of this shaky, newfound thing.

After that, the thrown food stopped. People held their tongues and Ymir’s things were no longer broken, but Historia did notice that people looked at her differently. Before it would have made her anxious, even when her father questioned her about it. All she thought about was that day in the rain, how free she had felt.

She started spending more time with Ymir. Neither of them mentioned it. It just became a fact, that Historia would wait by the gate for her and they would walk into school together; that in classes that they shared, they would sit next to each other and do group projects together. With exams nearing, they started going to the library and studying together.

“Ymir, maybe if you opened your book you wouldn’t be failing so badly?”

Ymir was slumped lazily in the chair, staring blankly up at the ceiling. “I can’t focus.” Her leg was bouncing underneath the table. “I’ve got ADHD.”

Historia sighed. “I’m dyslexic.”

Ymir straightened suddenly, scattering pencils on the table from her knee banging underneath. “What?”

She nodded. “So I have to try even harder to read and understand and remember. I don’t really have a clue what’s going on in my textbooks.”

Ymir was simply blinking at her. “But… you have the best grades in the school.”

“I barely sleep. I spend as much time as I can on carefully memorizing everything. It takes extra long.”

Ymir exhaled. “Fuck, that would make me super depressed.”

Historia gave a bitter smile. “Yeah, it would.”

Ymir looked at her. Really looked. She huffed, opened her textbook and scooted closer. “Alright, show me how you remember this shit so well.”

Historia beamed. They spent the whole afternoon in the library, pouring over the work. Historia helped Ymir with all of her techniques to remember the material, and she was delighted to see Ymir actually focusing. Occasionally her eyes would drift up and she would stare off, or she would start fidgeting with a pencil and then lose track, but all it took was a touch to the wrist or jaw and a lifted brow from Historia to get her back.

When they started exams, Ymir was confident enough for both of them, and Historia was certain she would actually do well this time.

Slowly, people started to treat her differently too. Her friends ignored her, teachers gave her looks, and when she got home her parents were usually furious with her—all for having the audacity to hang out with Ymir, to study a little less, sleep a bit more. When she received her marks for her exams, she had slipped out of first place, but she was still satisfied with having passed well. Her parents were incredibly furious with her and blamed it all on Ymir, that she was a terrible influence and that the teachers should have completely expelled her a long time ago.

For the first time, Historia stood up to them. She screamed and she yelled, and she ran up to her room to sob into her pillow. Ymir texting her continuously with dumb memes was the only thing keeping her together, and at some point she fell asleep with tears still wet on her face.

Soft knocking on her window roused her from a fitful sleep, and Historia hurried to open it. Ymir was hanging on the sill, her feet planted on a thin branch nearby.

“Ymir?”

Ymir grinned at her, hair a little messy, her clothes rumpled. “So, hey, I may have misjudged my weight.”

Historia laughed softly and helped Ymir in, and they slid down to her floor together. Ymir was puffing in large breaths—she had given up smoking, eventually. “Why are you here?”

Ymir pressed against her side. “It was an impulsive decision. You were sad, and I feel like it’s my fault, so I just… I dunno…”

Historia’s heart clenched. “You feel like you’re to blame?”

Ymir looked away, uncharacteristically solemn. Historia hated the dip in her shoulders, the defeated set of her jaw. She reached out and cupped Ymir’s cheek, turned her face so that they could gaze into each other’s eyes.

“It’s all me.”

Ymir swallowed. “I’m trouble, Historia.”

“I like trouble.”

“I get into fights and I say mean things, and I have blackout rages when people poke me wrong.”

“I care too much what people think and I hurt myself without realizing it.”

Ymir exhaled. Her eyes flicked down and Historia saw where she was looking—at her lips—felt that familiar warmth slip into her heart. Her feelings for Ymir consumed her, reminded her that she should do what she wanted and worry about the consequences later.

“I might ruin your life, Historia,” Ymir told her seriously. “We’re from such different worlds. I… I don’t want to drag you down with me.”

Historia gently stroked the side of Ymir’s face. There was an energy between them that had been there since the first moment. Ymir had little scars on her face, and her nose had never set right and was a little crooked, but she was still achingly beautiful. Historia loved every little imperfect thing about her.

“I want you to ruin my life,” she whispered into the dark, her deepest desire. “I want you.”

Ymir audibly sucked in a breath, and then Historia dipped forward and kissed her, taking each and every thing she wanted. Ymir stilled against her, and then she responded hungrily, breathlessly, and they kissed there, sitting on Historia’s bedroom floor beneath her open window where a cool breeze let itself in.

“What are people going to think?” Ymir mumbled against her mouth, her fingers tangled in Historia’s hair.

Historia laughed and rested their foreheads together. “I don’t really care.”

“There she is,” Ymir chuckled. “The Historia I fell in love with.”

Historia’s heart thudded hard. “Let’s run away.”

“For real?”

“Yeah. Just the two of us. Fuck the rest.”

Ymir gasped softly. “Historia Reiss, did you just swear?”

Historia giggled and pulled away. She caressed the underside of Ymir’s jaw. “You’re so bad for me, Ymir,” she told her with affection. “But you’re exactly what I need.”

Ymir’s eyes softened. “Well then, guess I have no choice but to ruin your life from here on out.”

“From now and forever.”

They kissed again.

“Deal.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, thanks so much for reading! Hope I was missed. I'm very happy to be posting all my updates, and I'm especially excited to finally share this fic. I love it so much, and I hope that my readers love it too.
> 
> This hiatus was good for me. Happy new year, every one! Let's hope for a wonderful, successful 2020


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